A Spider’s Gift

Web of reflections. If you look carefully you will see how each dewdrop reflects the sunset.

Web on a fence
Blowing in the wind
Silk stronger than steel
But lightest of gossamer

A gift freely given
Labour of love and necessity
Patience exemplified
Pattern repeated again and again


Trap for the unwary
Dinner-plate of necessity
Yet no utilitarian structure
Instead beauty epitomised

An arachnid wheel
Softly gathering dew drops
And glistening in the sunlight
Sparkling diamonds; what a sight!

Poem and photo copyright to Englepip©

Frozen Forest

A sudden chill
And Autumn turns to winter
Overnight.
Leaves that have clung
Through Autumn gales
Now frozen on each bough
Cling tentatively 
Before succumbing to the chill
And falling one by one
By one.
The freezing fog lies
Long into the day,
Mist throughout the 
Forest rests
On bracken fronds beneath
Turning them ice-white frosty.
It is as though time has stopped
And nature has withdrawn
To think about its future, 
Giving the world
A much needed
Breathing space.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

Shelley, this is England

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When I wake early to a summer’s morn

My spirits, leap.

Turning,  I watch your chest gently rising and falling

And I am glad, so glad that you will be here

To share this day.

The dawn has broken and the birds flit from bush to tree

Finding a perch high up from which

To announce their presence and welcome

The fact that they are alive.

My territory they announce; my family; my food.

I cannot blame them, for them,

Not to fight for the right

To survive; means certain death.

I watched last year how the  blue-tit parents failed to provide

And all nine chicks lost their lives.

But I am human and English and comfortable

And on Saturday mornings the whole world is mine

For an hour or maybe two.

Quietly I slip from the bed and into a gown,

Creeping downstairs to boil the kettle

And look out at the garden which has grown while I was not looking.

Sitting at the table next to the patio door

I luxuriate in the pale dawn light; 

the bird song and the peace

And the fact that there is not yet traffic.

A woody scent emanates from the earth

As the dew evaporates with the growing warmth.

I hear a plop as a frog returns to the tiny  pond next to the pear tree.

And I think of England – as did Shelley- except I am here already.

I have another forty-five minutes, surely.

The sun rises and the bird song diminishes on my little patch of paradise

And still I think of England, my early morning England.

But as the noise of planes and traffic increases,

So does the dust in the air which becomes city dry

Taking on that acrid brightness that is brittle;

And though the heat is increasing,  I pull my gown closer and shiver

At the prospect of  a Saturday in England, in the twenty-first century.

My tea is cool now in the mug.

One neighbour has decided to spray insecticide early,

While it is cool and he thinks no one will notice.

 At the back, the children have woken and wail in an argument over an iPad.

And then the DIYers…….and the traffic!

The cacophony of what is England now, today.

England – fair England – eaten up by diesel fumes and thoughtlessness,

I hear you stir.

And I am so glad that you will be here with me,

To calm and shield me in the chaos that is life;

My constant in a changing and polluting world that

I would hold dear,  but fear cannot survive this way.

I will take you up a cup of tea.

Photo and words copyright Englepip©

Cloaked in darkness

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We drew up the boats at the water’s edge as the sun plummeted towards the horizon. Just in time for a campfire; and facing west, a chance to watch the setting sun turn the whole of the western reaches burnt orange and golden. Drink in hand, we watched in awe as darkness descended and a chill grew across the water.  Listening intently as the noises of the day dropped one by one, the intensity of the night-time sounds grew greater; grunts and barks of wildlife echoed and there was the occasional screeching of a female tawny owl. And then we heard it, the plop and plunge of paddles slicing the calm waters as two canoes swished past, rippling through the water in the dying light; making their way homeward, secretively, cloaked of darkness.

Photo copyright Englepip ©

via Daily Prompt: Cloaked

Daily Prompt: The focused butterfly

Original photograph by Englepip© 

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Sometimes my attention wanders

And I look out of the window

And daydream

Of the summer sun and butterflies.

They, like my mind, go wandering,

Fluttering from leaf to flower

Or word to thought

From sky to plant,

Or dream to reality.

And this brings me back to

Focus on the very thing

Which sent me rambling in the first place:

The butterfly.

And as I watch its solid concentration and focus

On the things that really matter,

I realise I have too much,

Too much irrelevance in my life;

But if I focus

And make the most of every moment

Like the butterfly,

Seeking only the best for my mind, my body

My spirit and my heart

I will too will find happiness

And focus.

 

Worth a thought?

 

via Daily Prompt: Focused

Autumn

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Photographic images by Englepip Copyright ©

At first the Autumn creeps almost unseen

As leaves become duller, a little less green

Then suddenly out of the sky come the winds

First breezy, then blowy and then in a spin

That whirls and screeches and roars through the night

Bringing rain pellets from a huge height

‘Til, like stones, they drop on the waning flowers

And tumble the blossoms down with their might.

 

But the sun comes out and all is fair

Yet there’s a new coolness in the air.

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Next the leaves change to a beautiful hue

Traffic light colours in the park to view

The squirrels run jumping canopy high

Gathering nuts – they know winter is nigh,

While down on the ground the hedgehogs are seeking

A  sheltered bed for their long, winter sleeping.

 

And then we awake to the first full frost

The puddles are glassy, the flowers are lost.

 

And overnight the trees are made bare

The ground like a stone  and the daylight has gone

The temperature plummets to minus figures

And  the full force of Arctic winds is bitter

For Autumn has ended, and winter has hit us.